


The Wait is Over

by AliceMalefoy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:10:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMalefoy/pseuds/AliceMalefoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a young prodigy of an engineer recruited by Stark. As the months pass, you get cozy in the Stark Tower and befriend the Avengers, becoming an important part of the team as the little genius and apprentice of both Stark and Bruce. Unfortunately for you, you get involved in the whole Winter Soldier business, and before you know it, you're in too deep to turn around. Bucky Barnes got from supporting character to gravitational center of your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wait is Over

Two and a half years ago, your life was turned upside down. Back then it felt like a completely normal – yet somehow surreal – day, you had no idea that you would look back to it and realize that it was the turning point of your entire life.   
Mr. Stark came to visit you at your college, inviting himself in one of your classes while you were doing a very important presentation. When you spotted him, you started stuttering and forgetting what you wanted to say and you mentally cursed your idol in the five different languages you spoke. At age twenty-one, you were a prodigy of a rare kind. Three years ago you became a doctor in mechanical engineering, and now you followed a double degree in bio-mechanical and military engineering. To be completely honest, your main goal in life was to become the female version on Tony Stark, only at a way younger age than him.   
“Stage shy?” Was the first thing he told you after class, when you almost sprinted out, your face hot and red as you inwardly cursed yourself for letting him distract you.   
“Not usually, no,” you spun on your heels, meeting his amused eyes, despite the murderous glare you shot his way.   
He wore a three-pieces tuxedo, his hands were dived in his pockets in a very laid back way, and a pair of pink shades sat on his nose, regardless of the fact that you were inside of a rather dimly lit building. His tie matched the tissue in his chest pocket, and that fact alone had you rolling your eyes so far back in your head that you got a glimpse of your over-thinking brain.  
“Let's skip the small talk and the part where I pretend me being here is a coincidence and that your presentation blew me away and bla bla bla...” He said, sounding spectacularly cocky. “I'm here for a specific reason, and as you have probably guessed by now – or at least I hope you have, otherwise I would be very disappointed – that reason is you.” He said, rather proudly. “You're (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” he stated.  
“Yes,” you confirmed when he stopped talking for over two seconds. Even Tony Stark had to breath every now and then, who knew?  
“Wonderful!” He exclaimed, gesturing you to go on and walk with him. You did as he wanted, curious as to what he had to say. “You're an exceptional person, if I might say so. You remind me of myself, just less cool, obviously.  
“Obviously,” you breathed out.   
“Look, I proud myself in being the most accomplished engineer in the world-”  
“-certainly you are not the humblest,” you couldn't help but sass, blushing when you realized what you said.  
He stopped in his track, grinning in a proud, fatherly way.  
“I knew you were a good choice,” he said.  
“A good choice?” You questioned.  
“Yes, I chose you to become my apprentice,” Tony declared in this very casual tone, looking ahead of him, hands still buried in his pockets, strutting carelessly.   
You had now reached the door and exited the dark hallways to be greeted by the bright sun. It was already hot and humid despite being only ten in the morning. Massachusetts wasn't known to have the best of climates. But there was only one MIT in the USA, and that's where you wanted to be – other than the Stark Tower that is.   
“B-but I haven't even obtained my degrees yet,” you argued, earning a scoff.  
“You don't need a piece of paper to prove your skills, kiddo,” he shrugged it off. “You, Miss, are a prodigy and I want you on my team, literally and figuratively. You'll be paid more money than you can spend, you'll have an entire floor to yourself at the Stark Tower and you will work with the most exceptionally enhanced people in the world. Now you can pretend to hesitate five more minutes before I have to leave for New York. If you want to join, my helicopter is over there,” he pointed his finger towards the lawn in front of the MIT.   
Only Tony Stark would land his helicopter on a fucking lawn, completely ignoring the lack of heliport. 

*

Working for Stark was dangerous on many levels – sometimes you had to dodge a flying machine of his in the lab, sometimes you had to fight off aliens, it's good days, bad days. At one point though, he suggested you started combat training for your own protection. Your teacher was the one and only Natasha Romanoff, and after about two minutes of chit-chat and star-struck rambling on your side, she started beating the shit out of you, and you swallowed down your fangirling to focus on the task at hand.   
Clint Barton taught you how to shoot, both with guns and arrows, with a daily hour of training which resulted in several bruises on your shoulder the bigger the guns became, and sore fingers from pulling the triggers so many times.   
Steve Rogers – God bless America – watched over you as you trained in the gym, always making sure you weren't alone and advising you in the choice of your exercises to help you grow muscle. He once joked that he would offer to spar with you, but he was so much taller and broader than you that the very idea was comical.   
When it was needed, you joined them on the field, not as an Avenger, but as technical help, being their eyes and ears when they were busy fighting off enemies. You were so much younger than the rest of them that the Avengers often treated you like a daughter of some sort, over-protecting their little genius who always came up with cool ideas for new arrows for Clint, or smart little improvement for Tony and Rhodey's suits. The most affectionate one was Bruce – though he had not much to teach you in the combat field, he was your mentor when you stepped in the Stark lab. Tony was busy most of the time, but you made sure to look over his shoulder whenever he graced you with his presence, trying to figure out what the hell he was building this time around.  
Nick Fury, in his very own way, gave you a special treatment. That, you didn't know how you felt about.  
The day the winter soldier targeted Nick Fury's car you were there, riding shotgun. Your mind didn't process what exactly happened, besides seeing the huge man dressed all in black, face covered, holding a bazooka, and firing. You were on the sidewalk, your knees, elbows and forehead scratched, your head pounding, your ears ringing. The world was spinning.   
“(Y/N)!” You heard your earpiece sizzle. The voice was unrecognizable, but the worried tone alarmed you.   
“I'm fine,” you informed whoever spoke to you. A man's voice. Rogers maybe. “Fury's car got blown up!” You said, slowly realizing what had happened.   
How did you get out of the car? It laid about a hundred and fifty feet from you, on it's hood, fuming, burning. Soon, it would explode, the gasoline was everywhere, on the road, on the car, in the air. The smell of smoke and gas was filling your lungs.   
“I-I think he's dead,” you mumbled, feeling sick. The man in black had disappeared when the car exploded in front of your helpless eyes. 

*

The next time he made an appearance, you were there too. You watched him fight off Captain America easy peasy, as if he was doped on adrenaline. Not that adrenaline would even compete with the super soldier serum running in Steve's veins. That's when it clicked in your mind, and you understood.  
Natasha was sparring with the Winter Soldier, doing great in defending herself but not so great in taking him down – he was just too strong. The punches and forceful kicks she was throwing his way repeatedly were about as pointless as if she was hitting a concrete wall. You tried to spot Steve among the chaos and smoking engines but he was nowhere to be seen. His shield laid on the ground, still swinging faintly. Chest tight with worry, you could only hear the beating of your heart and nothing else.  
“Cap?” You called in your earpiece. “Rogers!” You tried again when all you heard was silence.  
You needed to warn him, you needed to tell him! You had it all figured out, and if you were right, this man wasn't the enemy. A shot echoed through the air, and your head snapped to your left.  
“Nat!” You screamed, fearing the worst for your friend.   
You didn't exactly know how you managed to always get in the middle of fights, but you knew that your teammates and friends did their best to protect you and put all the attention on themselves to spare you.   
“Nat! Are you okay?” You asked in your earpiece when you almost got shot while trying to run across the no man's land the road had become. “Somebody answer god dammit!”  
“I'm fine,” you heard her whisper, probably hiding from the soldier. “This guy's tough, we can't overcome him with just the three of us,” she stated the obvious. “Steve, copy that?” She asked, but there was no response from the super soldier. “Steve!”  
“I can't reach him either,” you informed her. “His earpiece must be broken.”  
“Let's hope you're right,” she said. A groan followed right away. “Shit, the bastard hit me in the shoulder.”  
Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted your conversation.  
“Ladies, get out of here,” Steve instructed, the unpleasant buzzing of his voice in your ear never feeling nicer than right now.  
“Fuck you, Steve!” Natasha told him, both because there was no way she'd ever listen to that order and because she was relieved to hear him.  
“Language Nat,” was the last thing you heard before Cap entered your field of vision again, picking up his shield as he ran toward the winter soldier.  
“Steve, wait!” You shouted in the mic. But it was too late. “Steve, stop! It's him! It's Barnes!”  
But he didn't hear over the deafening noise of the winter soldier's metal arm colliding with Cap's vibranium shield. The following minutes felt like hours – it was too quiet, too violently quiet. They fought like true professionals, it was almost beautiful. The punches flew, the knifes danced and yet none of them managed to strike the other one. You had never seen a ballet in your life, but that's how you imagined it would feel like to watch one.  
Warning Steve was out of the question now, but Natasha had heard clear as day and you could see her hiding behind a car, jaw hanging open in disbelief. You had never seen her surprised before.   
At some point, the silence grew so thick you felt sick to your stomach and when you looked up, you saw him. The mask fell, literally as well as figuratively, like Tony would say.   
“Bucky?” Steve asked under his breath, confused.  
When you called someone's name, they usually recognized themselves, their eyes lit up, their heads turned, they stopped in the middle of a sentence to see who was calling them. But none of this happened. James Buchanan Barnes, whose file you had read thoroughly, just like everybody else's, and who you clearly recognized, did not recognize himself.   
“Who the hell is Bucky?”

*

You were twenty-three when you saw him again in the flesh. Two years had passed, your skills improved, your mind was sharper, your status as an apprentice was long behind you and you became a part of the Team, same as Natasha and Clint, both normal human beings with not special abilities apart from the fact that they excel at what they do. It appeared that you were getting better with long shot guns, and knifes – whatever required extreme precision. At some point you dropped the arrows and you asked Natasha to start training you to use hidden knives and to privilege your left hand to throw off your enemies.   
It paid off, and you spend those two years secretly helping Cap and Sam track down Bucky Barnes. He was a man hard to find, especially since he didn't want to be found. But when you did, it was thanks to you. You created a software capable of locating people thanks to facial recognition on a world wide scale, and through every camera at your disposition – including phones and private laptops, not to mention all the security cameras in the world. It worked passed all the security and country borders, it was undetectable and you were rather proud of it, although it was technically illegal and you couldn't claim the rights of its creation without going to jail for governmental espionage – bummer.  
“Steve,” you stated in a much too serious voice. The absence of your usually joyful and light tone alarmed him and his smile dropped. “I found him.”  
It took less than thirty minutes for you two to get ready, and jump on the quinjet, heading straight to Bucharest.   
“I should go in first,” you said.   
It was the only words you spoke in five hours. Only halfway there. It was a ten hours flight. The knives in your hands felt like extensions of yours own fingers. You played with them, sharpened them, even if they didn't need to be. You were nervous, which was unusual. The man you were about to meet was neither the Bucky Barnes in the files you studied like the Bible, nor the winter soldier who tried to kill all of your friends two years ago. You felt like you knew him, yet you didn't. It must be a hundred times worse for the Captain, but your common sense told you that Bucky hid partly because he didn't want to face his old friend. And maybe he would be a little less prone to stab first and ask questions later if you met him first, since you were still a rather fragile looking woman, and you knew that the Bucky from the 1940's would never lift a finger on a woman.  
“No,” he snapped, before apologizing. “Sorry, but I-”  
“I know. But let's play this smart,” you cut him off. “I speak Romanian, I can approach him in public if you want to keep an eye on us. If he sees you he'll run the other way, and we both know this.”  
Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, looking tired as ever even though his face held none of the usual signs of exhaustion. It was in his eyes – you had seen him in his best days, and now you saw the worst. Five minutes of thick silence passed by before he spoke up again.  
“Fine. But if anything happens, I'll jump in,” he said. “He's more dangerous than y-”  
“I was there, Cap,” you reminded him. “I saw it all and at the time I couldn't do anything to stop him, but today I'm not the old (Y/N) anymore. If he tries anything, I'll handle it.”  
“That's not what I meant,” he said gently. “I'll have your back, that's all I wanted to say.”  
“I appreciate. You know I have yours,” you nodded gratefully.   
Your eyes snapped up to meet his, showing him you meant what you said. They were veiled with a darkness that wasn't there the day Tony came to see you at the MIT, when you were still a student. Now you were a soldier, added up to your PhD. In Mechanical Engineering, your degrees in Bio-mechanical and Military engineering, and the now six languages you spoke fluently, you were the most educated and trained member of the team – though Bruce had brute force, he was not combat trained, and Tony relied on his suit too much in your opinion.   
The only other person to your knowledge that had stored up as much information as you was James Barnes. Trained and taught for seventy years, he was the most well-trained spy and killer on the loose. He spoke seven languages, knew the time zones from all over the world, could fight off jet lag, he didn't need to sleep more than four hours a day, he could analyze a situation in a split second and was taught to decode and crack the most complicated of codes. You were thrilled to meet him, and you couldn't wait to finally speak to him in person.   
You hadn't told anyone, but you found him weeks ago. When you first did, you thought it was a mistake – it wouldn't be the first time your software found a look alike – and you felt you had to check before disappointing Steve again.   
You spent days wondering what to do before eventually coming to a conclusion: you had to reach out to him, that was the only way to be certain once and for all.  
You sent him a message – a coded one of course – and you waited, hoping for an answer. It was an extract of the Captain America exhibition at the Smithsonian museum. “Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.”  
It took less than two days for him to answer.  
“Who are you?”  
“A friend. The Avengers are looking for you.”  
“Did you tell them where I am?”  
“No, should I?”  
“No. Who are you?” He repeated, the words appearing on the screen. You had reached him through his laptop – you knew he'd want to stay tuned on what happened in the world - and hacked it so it would be directly connected to yours.  
“We've met on the bridge. Special Agent (Y/L/N),” you told him, wondering how much of a bad idea it to was specify your rank;  
“I'm sorry.”  
“You didn't hurt me.”  
“I'm still sorry.”  
“Stop apologizing. What are you hiding from? Cap wants to help you.”  
“He can't.”  
“Maybe I can,” you ventured to say. “I want to.”  
“Who are you?”   
“I told you.”  
“Who are you?”  
“I'm someone who wants to help you. I'm a friend.”  
“Who are you?”  
“My name's (Y/N). I'm an agent and an engineer. I've spent two years looking for you. I want to meet you.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you're alone, and you don't have to be. Because I'm alone, and I don't want to be.”  
“Okay. Tell him.”  
That was the last of it, but you still didn't tell Steve. You pondered the pros and cons of flying over to Romania by yourself, but you figured the others would notice a missing jet and you being absent from work – because you still spent tremendous amounts of time in the lab, working on new gadgets. So that was out of the question.

*

A week later, you recontacted Bucky.  
“Are you okay? Do you have everything you need?”  
It was a rather stupid thing to ask honestly, but you gave it a shot.  
“Define 'okay',” he sassed you, and you smiled though he couldn't see you.   
That's when it clicked. He was in front of his laptop, and so were you. He could see you. You typed line after line of code so quickly it surprised you the keyboard wasn't smoking, and suddenly, a new tab appeared on both of your screens. It surprised him at first – HYDRA had taught him to use a computer, but it didn't mean he liked them or trusted anything those machines did.  
“Hi,” you said, and it startled him to hear your voice and see your face.   
You weren't anything like he had imagined. Your voice was different too, softer, like a caress. It had been so long he hadn't heard the voice of a woman, someone who didn't mean to harm him.   
“H-Hi,” he said, eyes wide and his flesh hand mechanically waving at you. You smiled at that and it threw him off. He didn't look the same as you last saw him – he grew a beard, wore his hair long and a cap on his head. He looked fine, though – as fine as can be.  
“'Okay' means that you're healthy, not wounded, possibly have a roof over your head and enough food,” you told him in answer to his previous statement. “So, are you?”  
“I am,” he said after a while, still staring at you intently.   
“Good. I haven't told Steve yet,” you informed him.  
“Why?” He frowned.  
You blinked, pulling slightly away from the screen.   
“I don't know, actually. I was... worried that you'd change your mind about seeing him and move cities again.”  
Lie.  
“You're lying.”  
True.  
“Then why didn't I tell him?” Your eyebrows shot up.  
“I'd like to meet you,” you told him sincerely.  
“All the more reason to tell him then.”  
“I want to meet you alone.”  
“Why?” He questioned.  
“Why do I have to have a reason?”  
“There is always a reason. Don't contact me again unless you're ready to talk.”  
He closed the laptop, ending the conversation there.

*

“Bucky,” you said through the screen, knowing he was in the room. The security camera on the other side of the street had told you so.  
“(Y/N),” he said as a greeting. He sat down on the chair, facing the camera.  
“Are you okay?”  
“Yes.”  
“Good.”  
There was a long silence. He took advantage of it and studied your features, detailing the slopes and edges of your face, admiring the youth and beauty that characterized you.  
“I want to meet you because you intrigue me.”  
This time, he felt like you told the truth. All the other reasons you had given him weren't complete lies, but they weren't the real reason behind your secret conversations.  
“I see.”  
“Is that all? You're not asking me why this time?” You asked, smiling softly. You had noticed how it seemed to relax him whenever you smiled.  
“No.”  
Talking to him was a real challenge when he acted so cold and unwilling to comply. You had dealt with much more taciturn people, but you usually relied on physical contact to compensate. Which you obviously couldn't count on in this case. It frustrated you to no end.  
When he saw that flash of sadness in your eyes, Bucky wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch you – god knows why, because he didn't trust himself to touch a soft and gentle being like you. It had been an eternity since he last got to touch – or to be touched by – someone who had only good intentions toward him. He wanted to touch and feel a woman again, to feel the warmth and softness of their skin.  
“Please be real,” he whispered to himself and though you saw his lips move, you didn't quite catch what he said after 'please'.  
“Sorry, what did you say?”  
“Nothing. You intrigue me too,” he admitted.   
A smile split your face from ear to ear.  
“You'll make me blush,” you replied playfully and for the first time in all the weeks you spent talking to him, he smirked. It was quick and faint, and disappeared so fast that you thought you had imagined it, but something in the back of your head told you that you couldn't make up such a charming smile. 

*

You hadn't talked to him after that, you didn't get the chance to. The Vienna terrorist attacks happened and Bucky's face was all over the newspaper in the entire world, and that's when you knew you couldn't hide the information from Steve anymore. You told him, and there you were, sitting in the quinjet, pretending to not have withheld information from Captain America himself for weeks. Pretending you didn't spend hours sending messages and talking to his former best friend.  
You had become good at lying – Natasha made sure of it – but you never thought you'd use this skill against Steve.   
“(Y/N), we're landing,” Steve told you, snapping you out of your thoughts.   
A couple hours later, you were sitting at a table in a café, facing a street food market, watching none other than Sergeant James Bucky Barnes, World War II veteran, member of the Howling Commandos and Soviet brainwashed super assassin, buying plums.  
“He's here,” Steve's voice said in your earpiece.   
“I know, Steve. I'm still not sure about the earpiece. He'll know. I should take it out,” you argued.  
It was true, but it was also a lie.  
“I can't help you if-”  
“I can handle this, Steve. If I need help, I'll run my hand through my hair, alright?”  
You heard him groan and eventually agree. You quickly threw your earpiece on the ground and stepped on it, crushing it. You stood up, straightened your coat and started walking over to Bucky. You knew he'd recognize you, but he couldn't be seen by Steve, or Cap would understand. You put your shades on and started looking at the fruits, standing only inches away from him.  
“Steve is watching us from the roof behind you, act normal,” you whispered as your brushed against his arm, making him stiffen.  
He nodded faintly, his face hidden by his cap.   
“You don't know me. We never talked before, copy that?”  
He nodded again.  
“Are you okay?”  
“Yes,” he said and smiled , still hiding his face from Steve.  
“Good. I didn't know you liked plums,” you said, taking one in your hand.  
“I didn't know you came to visit,” he replied. Touché.   
“Surprise!”  
“Is it because of Vienna? It wasn't me. I don't... do this anymore,” he said, bringing his lips in a thin line. This time he faced you, entering Steve's vision – probably.  
“I know,” you said. “You should know that we found your apartment. Steve will be there later, but I managed to convince him that it would be a better idea to send me first.”  
“Smart move,” he smirked. “Are you going to tell Steve? About us?”  
“What about us? Our virtual secret affair?” You chuckled. “I didn't plan to. It's irrelevant and it can stay our little secret if you want. Of course if you're not comfortable hiding it from him, I-”  
“No, it's fine. Let's keep it between us,” he cut you off. “So, what are you supposed to do now? Talk to me? Tame me? Convince me I'm safe with Steve?”  
“I owe you an apology, you asked me several times to tell Steve of your location and I postponed it until yesterday.”  
“You didn't come all the way here to apologize. Now that you finally see me in person, what are your impressions?”  
“My impressions?”  
“Yes. Do I frighten you? You do pity me? Am I the monster you imagined?”  
This time, you weren't separated by over seven thousand miles, several countries and an ocean. There was no screen between you and Bucky and therefore, nothing could prevent you from reaching out. That's what you did. Your hand rested on his arm – his metal one you guessed from his wary expression and the way he stiffened, but he soon relaxed. He had wanted this. He could feel the pressure of your hand, though he wished there was skin to skin contact, it was a little much to ask for.   
“I never thought for a second that you were the monster they tried to turn you into,” you said solemnly. “I waited so long to see you in person. My impression is that you are ten times the man you think you are, and I can't wait to get to know this Bucky Barnes.”

*

 

You were there when Bucky Barnes overcame the winter soldier after Zemo activated him. You had protested and fought when Steve and Sam wanted to trap his arm in a vice, but they did it anyway. You stayed by his side while the boys talked about what was to happen next. He woke up with a grunt, obviously sore and the pain caused by the memory of what he just did was clear in his blue eyes.   
“Bucky,” you uttered his name, and god, he was so happy to hear your voice out of all things.  
“It's me. It's me...” he said, sounding exhausted.  
“I know it's you,” you assured him, taking his free hand in yours, causing sparks to erupt in his stomach.   
It always made him feel funny to have you around. You didn't know what he was like in the 40's, you were fully aware of the terrible things he did, and yet you were here, holding his hand at all times. He didn't deserve your trust, he didn't deserve your forgiveness. But you gave him nonetheless.   
“You shouldn't be here. You could get hurt because of me... by me,” Bucky sighed. “You should all go, and leave me here. I can handle myself, I'll disappear again.”  
“I know you can. Thing is, you don't have to,” you said, smiling gently and squeezing his hand. 

*

You were there too when Tony decided to fight against Steve. It broke your heart to see the disappointment in your mentor's eyes. It was hard to meet Nat's gaze, seeing her stand behind Tony. It was all so unfair – you didn't want to fight against your friends, you would step between the two sides if you thought for one second that it would be enough to stop them.  
You didn't fully agree with either side, but if you had to stand by someone, it would have been Tony. Except that you couldn't. You could stand having to fight Tony, Nat and Rhodey – you had done it before – but fighting Bucky was too much to ask of you. One glance at him and you knew that you were standing exactly where you wanted to be – beside him. The feelings you harbored for him were out of place and the timing sucked beyond words. You kept quiet and fought alongside him, doing whatever was needed to prove everyone that he was innocent, that he was a good man. He was the man others could only dream to become. He was the man you wished to have by your side.   
The man you loved.   
“(Y/N)!” You heard him call your name while you were in the middle of the fight. By the time you threw a knife to that young boy Tony had brought along, cutting off his web and causing him to fall to the ground, and turn around to see where Bucky was, it was already too late.  
Blood ran down his chest from the hole in his shoulder and pain twisted his features.   
“Bucky!” You screamed, jumping down to dodge a blast of Tony's armor. “Bucky! Are y-”  
“I'm fine, I'm fine!” He assured you, still grimacing. “Just a scratch, I'm all good, doll,” he said, only worrying you further.   
“You took a bullet for me! What the hell?!” You shoved him, angrily throwing a knife to T'Challa who was running towards you – he was all over Bucky since day one, and that made him very unlikeable to you. He easily dodged it, but just when you were about to stand up, Natasha crashed into the King, although they were supposed to be on the same side. She spared you a glance and then she looked up toward something behind you, and you knew she was with you on this. Behind you was the quinjet.  
“Get up, we have to get you to the quinjet,” you told Bucky. “Nat's covering us. Can you run?”  
“Of course I can, who do you think I am?” He joked, smiling painfully.   
“I expected no less of you,” you told him.   
The rest of the fight happened without you, you were busy having Bucky's back and not letting him jump in front of you to take a bullet. It was easier said than done to run to the engine, Vision made half of the airport fall down on you two, but with a little help from Wanda and Natasha, Steve, Bucky and you managed to make it.  
“He's been shot,” you informed Steve. “You go get us out of here and I take care of it!”  
Steve nodded and ran to the cockpit.  
“It? I'm an 'it'?” Bucky asked, trying to sound offended, but he was in pain and it was difficult to joke when you had a bullet in your shoulder.  
“Shut up, the bullet's an 'it', the fact that you're an idiot who got hurt for nothing is an 'it', and I intend to deal with that,” you told him, clenching your jaw and leading him towards the staff cabin, searching for the first aid kit.   
“What do you mean 'for nothing', you're not nothing!”  
“In case you haven't noticed,” you said, gesturing him to sit down. “We're all trying really hard to maintain you alive, and jumping in front of a bullet – as crazy as it sounds – is not helping,” you deadpanned.  
“Worth it,” he groaned when you grabbed a bottle of whiskey in the box – whoever put that here is a genius – and poured it over his wound. “Arrghhh!” He kept his teeth clenched.  
“Still think it's worth it?” You asked, unable to hold back the 'I told you so' smirk on your face.  
“Definitely. You're worth more than a bullet in the shoulder,” he winced as you started studying the wound to see the damage.   
“It's clean, the bullet's out,” you said. You were relieved to be honest, you didn't want to hurt him further while getting the bullet out. “Lucky you.”  
“(Y/N),” Bucky grabbed your hand and you froze, looking at him. “I've had worse, believe me. I'm glad it hit me and not you.”  
His hand was in yours. His light blue eyes were fixated on you, as if he meant for you to understand what his eyes said rather than his lips. Whatever lie you detected behind those shiny eyes you desperately wanted to believe, but how could you allow yourself to do that?   
“I- I...” You stuttered, feeling our face heat up.  
“I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you',” Bucky chuckled lowly.  
The tension left your shoulders and you smiled back.  
“Thank you, Bucky. Next time just- try to take the bullet in your metal shoulder, alright?”   
A genuine laughter escaped his lips and you joined him, feeling lighter than you did in the past weeks.   
“I'll try and remember,” he promised.  
“Where did it come from anyway?” You asked, wondering who would shoot you.  
“I think it was Nat. She aimed at Wanda, but she deviated it,” Bucky sighed. You gestured him to take his shirt off so you could bandage him up.   
Focusing solely on the wound was exceptionally difficult when a shirtless super soldier's chest was so close to your face.   
“Here, all done. You'll live,” you declared once you were finished. The blush on your cheeks was perfectly distinguishable but being the gentleman he is, Bucky didn't point it out. Although it wouldn't have been too out of character for him to tease you with this, you felt it in the air that it was no time to joke.   
“Thank god,” he said amusingly, the corners of his mouth twitching up.  
He was grateful for having you. Bucky was grateful to have you with him, no matter the circumstances and no matter what he did or said to push you away for your own safety, you were there. You held his hand.  
You were one of the very few people who could touch him, and god, how he liked to touch you. Feeling your soft and small hands against his warm skin, that of his flesh arm. And then, there was his metal arm. That one was something else. You didn't seem to mind, you didn't seem to be afraid of it – you touched it without flinching. He liked it as much as he despised it, but in the end you were the one to decide. And if it was up to you, you'd never put your hands off of him.  
This time however, it was him who touched you, sending shivers all over your body. The touch was strangely light and gentle given that it was his metal arm – honestly you didn't know what you expected, but when his palm brushed against your cheek, you leaned into it, surprising you both.  
“I want to try something,” Bucky told you in a whisper.   
You were too dazzled to say anything and simply nodded, covering his hand on your cheek with your own. The air between you two was electrical, you could almost see the sparks erupting. You knew what he wanted to do, and you feared it as much as you craved it. But hesitation was not on the menu.   
When Bucky leaned in to kiss you, your breath caught in your throat and you smiled against his lips when they collided with yours. It was a chaste kiss at first, he was testing the water. He was so warm, and soft, like wood. Your hands flew to his hair, running your fingers through his long locks and returning the kiss as fiercely as you could. If you two weren't good with words, you were damn good at showing each other how much you cared. Taking a bullet was a thing, but this wasn't anything like it. This wasn't something you could express with words.   
You gasped, feeling his hands wrap around your waist and lifting you up to place you on his lap, one leg each side of him. Suddenly very aware of his bare chest flat against your breasts, you pulled away, your breath erratic.   
“Bucky,” you rasped. His forehead was pressed up against yours, as you both regained your breath. “You know you're pretty well-preserved for a ninety-nine year old,” you laughed, looking down to his adonis-like chiseled chest.   
“Ugh, thanks? I guess...” He grinned. “You know, technically I'm only twenty-nine. That's my biological age.” You smiled at his attempt to rejuvenate himself. “How old are you even?” He frowned suddenly.  
“I'm twenty-three,” you shrugged.  
Bucky winced.  
“What?” You asked.  
“You're a baby,” he said, laughing under his breath.   
Your jaw fell open and you shoved him in the shoulder, which made him groan out in pain. Your hands flew to your mouth and your eyes went wide.  
“Shit! I'm so sorry!”

*

It hurt to see him like this. It was like sticking needles in your heart.   
Bucky sat there, his back to you, his entire upper body leaning slightly to the right since his left arm had been ripped off by Tony. Stark was going down a very dark path and had his teammates and friends imprisoned, he turned his back on you, and you had to quit the Avengers. Actually, there were no Avengers anymore. Just you, Bucky and Steve, here in Wakanda. King T'Challa finally saw the truth and realized Bucky was just a victim, just like his father.   
After your little scene in the quinjet, Bucky had handcuffed you to your seat when it was time to search the hydra base where Zemo was hiding. You called him names in six languages, cursed you two reckless friends, screamed and struggled to get free until your wrist was bloody and the flesh open, but you didn't manage to break free. They might fall head first in a trap and here you were, safely hidden in the quinjet, unaware of how they were doing. An hour or more had passed and worry was eating away at you.  
In the end, you didn't manage to free yourself, and when they came back, they were beat up and bloody, and Steve didn't have his shield anymore. Bucky had lost his metal arm and you were thankful that it was the only part of him that was hurt, although absolutely horrified. Steve freed you and went back to the cockpit, eager to leave this place. With your open wrist and tears troubling your visions, you crawled to Bucky's unconscious form on the floor. You put his head in your lap and cried silently, stroking his head as if he could feel it and it would bring him any comfort. It brought you comfort.  
“Bucky, Bucky...” You whimpered. “Wake up, Bucky...”  
He woke up two hours later, feeling groggy. You laughed and cried at the same time, and for a two weeks, you went from city to city with Bucky, while Steve went back to Wakanda, to negotiate with T'Challa.   
It was oddly easier to make him look like a disabled solider with his missing arm than it was to make it look like his metal arm was a real one. You didn't let him go for one second all the time you spent with him. He liked that. He didn't want you to let go. As much as he would have liked to know you were safe and sound back home, he needed you with him, and he was glad that's where you were.   
And now you were here, in the white fancy labs of Wakanda, looking at Bucky, dressed in white – you had never seen him wear white. He was talking to Steve – they both looked so sad, it broke your heart.   
You watched them through the glass walls, giving them their alone time and waiting 'til they were finished to talk to Bucky in private. Steve eventually looked up, making eye contact with you, and you stood up.   
“Please tell me you made him change his mind,” you begged Steve when he walked out the door.   
Steve sighed, shaking his head in defeat.  
“He's going under again. He seemed determined.”  
You stormed passed him and entered the room in which Bucky sat, facing the cryogenic capsule he wanted to go back inside. He told you a few days ago. Just by the look in his eyes you know some bad shit was about to go sown but you couldn't have imagined this. You thought it was over now, you thought he would finally be at peace and recover his memory. But no, no. The world would never allow Bucky Barnes to be happy, at least not as long as he was messed up inside because of HYDRA. He seemed calm to you, but you knew better. It was a facade, his way of showing you that he was fine.  
“Hey, Bucky,” you soothed, gently wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. It was a habit of yours to signal your presence before touching him, so you wouldn't startle him, though you were almost certain he could hear you coming despite your silent steps. You nuzzled him, burying your nose in his neck and placing kisses right there, breathing in his scent. You wanted to remember this when he was gone.  
“(Y/N),” he greeted you. “Come here,” he grabbed your wrist and made you walk around the medical bed he was sitting on. “I wanna see your face.”  
It seemed that he too was trying to memories every feature of your face, every edge and nook he loved to pieces he wanted to carve in his memory.   
You huffed. “You want to see a red-eyed, crying girl before going back under the ice for god knows how long?” You asked, already feeling tears build up in your eyes. You swallowed them down. “That's messed up.”  
“Don't be like that,” Bucky demanded you, a tender smile tugging at his lips, somewhere between peace of mind and distraught. He put his fingers under your chin to make you look up.  
“What am I supposed to do then? I'm hurting all over,” you admitted.  
“I'm not leaving you. I'm protecting you,” he sighed. He already told you that a hundred times, but each time it lost a little bit of its meaning.   
“I get that you don't want to be triggered again, Bucky, I do. But going under again won't help either – it's a way to avoid the problem.”  
“Yeah, and? I've been struggling with this for seventy years, I'm allowed to put my head in the sand if I want to. I'm free today,” he argued.  
“I don't want to argue with you today. Or ever, actually,” you told him, lip quivering. You would not allow yourself to be weak today. “You're free, you're right. If that's what you want to do, I'll accept it, but don't count of me to give up on you like you do.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I'm going to spend every second of your time in this freezer trying to find a solution to your problem. I'll start studying again if I must, get another PhD in psychology this time, I won't stop digging until I reach those goddamn triggers in your mind, and destroy them!”   
This time the tears ran down your cheeks freely, and Bucky pulled you to him in a tight hug, letting you sob against his shoulder. You stayed like this for a while, until you calmed down, and you kissed tirelessly, stealing away as much time as you could.  
“You don't have to wait for me, (Y/N). Actually, I don't want you to. You're allowed to abandon and chose life, and love. Find someone to make you happy.”  
You nodded, still emotional. You refrained yourself from saying that you already found that person, because it was cheesy and he'd probably make fun of you. You laughed at that.  
“Now smile!” You ordered him. “If you keep pulling that sad face, I won't let you leave. I want my last memory of you to be a happy one,” you said, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his.  
“Alright,” he chuckled.  
When you opened your eyes, he was smiling, and you kissed him deeply, passionately. An embrace full of promises you'd make sure to keep. 

~YEARS LATER~

 

Waking up from cryogenic sleep was like waking up from a long, long nap. You were more tired than when you fell asleep. Confusion was the natural response to being woken up in a bright white place that didn't feel familiar, but Bucky soon remembered where he was. Wakanda.  
Steve stood there, next to the two doctors in white blouses, an enigmatic smile on his face. He glanced down to Bucky's arm and Bucky followed his gaze.  
A new arm was attached to his shoulder.   
“It's vibranium,” a warm female voice answered his silent question. He didn't see her right away, but he heard heels clicking on the immaculate floor approaching. When she walked around the capsule, his breath caught in his throat.   
“Who are you?” He asked.  
The question had a familiar ring to it, and you cracked a smile.  
“I'm a friend,” you said, repeating the same thing as the first time, hoping he'd understand. You hadn't change that much, did you?  
Something in his eyes lit up.  
“We're leaving you two alone for now,” Steve said, squeezing your shoulder as he walked by, followed by the doctors. Bucky was now free to move, and he got out of the capsule, gripping the nearby table to steady himself.   
“(Y/N)?” Bucky asked, a tremor in the voice.   
“Yes,” you smiled.  
“What... h-how long? What's-?”   
“It's been five years, Bucky. I'm twenty-eight now,” you said reaching out to help him walk to the bed and sit down.   
“You're- you...” he stuttered, blushing like crazy.   
“All this ice has really taken its toll on you, ugh? Can't English anymore?” You asked jokingly, teasing him life you used to.  
You had changed quite a bit during the last past years. Your hips were fuller, and so were your breasts. Your hair grew very long – almost like you hadn't cut them since the last time you saw him – and your features were sharper, thinner. You stood proudly on your heels, wearing one of those classy business women dress that flattered without showing too much. He was in love.   
“You're absolutely beautiful, (Y/N),” Bucky whispered. “You've become an even more gorgeous woman,” he rambled, a goofy smile adorning his lips.   
You laughed, sitting down next to him.  
“You haven't changed at all,” you replied. “And thank you, Bucky.”  
“Remember when I told you to give up on me and find someone else to make you happy?” He asked, frowning his brows.  
You nodded, confused.  
“Please, tell me you didn't listen to me,” he begged you.  
“Of course I didn't, who do you think I am?” You made sure to sound offended.   
He looked so relieved it made you laugh and you grabbed his chin so he would face you and kissed him.   
“And I kept all my promises,” you told him, feeling his new hand on your neck when he answered your kiss. “How do you like your new arm? I designed it. I'm sure you understand why it was out of the question to ask Tony,” you said sadly. “But now it's all behind you. Everything. HYDRA, the trigger words, you're free from it all.”  
“You did this?” He asked, gesturing around. And you nodded again.   
Despite some rough times, you never gave up. Despite days of sleeplessness and restless studying you kept going. With some help from Bruce who never quite broke off all links with you, and thousands of gallons of coffee. Black with one sugar. You knew that's how Bucky drank it too.  
You knew that Bucky was waiting for you here, and that thought alone fueled you and inspired you to push your research further.   
“I spent enough time without you,” you declared. “We've waited long enough to be together, don't you think? Are you ready to leave this place with me?”  
He didn't answer. Bucky's hands where glued on you, you held you against him, gently stroked your arms and back and he nuzzled in your neck, humming softly to himself. It was like holding a child – a tall, strong, ninety-nine year old child with a vibranium arm. He felt so fragile in your arms, he was breakable.  
“God, I love you,” he said, his voice breaking halfway through his sentence.  
“Bucky,” you worried. “Are you okay?” You pulled away to meet his gaze, only to see his tear stained cheeks and shining eyes. Bucky was crying. And smiling.  
“Yes. Yes, of course I am, how could I not?”  
Before you could stop yourself, you were crying and smiling through your tears too.  
“Good.”


End file.
